


Truth or...

by jonsasnow



Series: Tumblr Prompts [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Tumblr Prompts, anyway yes, jonsa, sansa has a better idea, they play mario kart, theyre drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 03:24:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17439020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonsasnow/pseuds/jonsasnow
Summary: “It’s like truth or dare but – okay, so any time one of us gets hit by the the other with a shell or loses a race, we have to choose: truth or strip.”Or the one where Jon and Sansa turn playing Mario Kart into a much more interesting game.





	Truth or...

**Author's Note:**

> Another fic! 
> 
> Based on a tumblr prompt request.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

“If you hit me with that damn shell one more time, Jon Snow!”   


His laughter bursts out of him like he hadn’t expected it and Sansa has to stamp down on her own smile. In her peripheral, she can see him shaking his head. “How are you going to get me back when I’m so far head of you, Sans?” 

She kicks at his shin. “I’m just not used to playing anymore!” 

“Do you know what I hear?” he says, casual, as his avatar crosses the finish line, “all I hear are excuses from a sore loser.”   


She kicks him harder this time and Jon yelps. “I am _not_. I’m just –” She scrambles for a real excuse and settles on, “out of practice. Unlike you and Robb, I actually have a life, okay?” 

Jon puts the controller down on the coffee table and turns to look at her. The smile on his lips makes her want to kick for the third time. “Sounds like a  _sore loser_  to me.” 

Sansa isn’t naturally a competitive person. She doesn’t have the same drive for it like her siblings do. She has always been someone who prefers spending her time productively and she never saw sports or games as particularly that productive. But over the years, Sansa’s come to realise that the more she drinks, the more competitive she becomes, and with two glasses of wine in her, she is ready to fight Jon if she has to. 

“Or _maybe_  we should make this interesting,” Sansa says, a smirk pulling at her lips. In the back of her mind, there is a small, sober Sansa yelling at her that what she’s about to say is a very bad idea, but there are also several hundred dancing drunk Sansa’s to tell her to shut up.  


Jon leans forward, intrigued. “What do you have in mind?” 

The tiny Sansa screams louder but Sansa just shrugs. “A game.”

“We’re already playing a game,” Jon says with a laugh. He flicks her nose. “Or have you forgotten, Sansy pants?”  


She scrunches up her nose with disgust. She hates that nickname and he knows it. “No, a game on top of a game!” He looks dubious so she continues on. “It’s like truth or dare but – okay, so any time one of us gets hit by the the other with a shell or loses a race, we have to choose: truth or strip.” 

Jon blinks, inhales deeply and moves further back in the sofa. “That’s not a good idea.” 

Sansa shoves him. “Why _not_? We’re two grown adults. It’s not like I’ve never seen you shirtless before! C’mon. It’s just for fun!”

He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “What happened to Princess Sansa who wouldn’t even join us in the lake because she didn’t want to get her hair wet?” 

“Uh, I had just gone to the salon, of course I wasn’t gonna get it wet.” Anyone would think that was obvious. “So are you in or not? Or are you afraid I’m gonna kick your a –” 

“Alright but don’t say I didn’t warn you that this was a bad idea,” Jon says with another deep exhale. Someone would think she has a gun to his head but at least he’s playing with her and that’s what she wants, so she ignores his reluctance, not really in the right mindset to wonder why he is or why he has a very, very valid point.   


“Get ready to lose, Jon Snow!”   


Two games in and Sansa’s already told Jon about the time she broke her mum’s expensive vase and let Theon take the fall for it and how Margaery is technically her first kiss because they practised before Joffrey took her out on their first date. And the fact that Margaery and her actually dated for a few months when they both moved to London for uni but that ultimately, they each preferred being friends more. By the third game, Sansa is done telling truths and she’s too drunk to be self-conscious, so when Jon, of course, hits her avatar with a green shell, she tugs at the hem of her shirt and flings it across the room.

“ _Fuck,_ Sansa!” Jon shouts. “Warn a guy before you do that!”

She giggles and scoots closer. “What? Do bras make you uncomfortable? Is it because you don’t know how to work them?” He rolls his eyes at her reference but there is still a very visible flush on his cheeks. Sansa pokes him. “If I make you so uncomfortable then maybe you should stop hitting me with shells!” Although her words are teasing, there’s a lilt of hurt. She knows Jon only really sees her as a little sister but doesn’t he find her the least bit attractive? Is that why he was so reluctant to play with her?   


He opens his mouth to say something but Sansa’s drunk and sober selves are feeling a little sad now and she doesn’t want to focus on it so she puts on a bright smile. “C’mon, unpause! I’m for sure going to kick your ass now.” 

Jon sighs but does as she asks. She puts all of her effort on the game, silence descending upon them, which is bizarre considering it had been nonstop chatter since Sansa came to crash at Jon’s flat when a pipe burst at her own.

By some stroke of luck, Sansa does win. The first out of at least ten games and she jumps up and throws her controller down onto the sofa. “I did it! Oh my god, I did it!” 

Jon is laughing at her and she points at him with a devilish glee. “Truth or strip, Snow. Choose wisely!” 

“I choose truth.”  


“Ah, spoil sport,” she groans, dropping back down on the sofa.  


“The truth is you don’t make me uncomfortable,” Jon says. “Not in the way you’re thinking.” He’s closer now and Sansa has to turn to look at him. “It’s just – fuck, I don’t know how you haven’t figured this out already but I think you’re probably the hottest girl I know and it’s really annoying, okay?”   


This dumbfounds her. She doesn’t know what to say to that so she doesn’t say anything at all. She just grabs her controller and smiles. “Next round?”

But now, it’s too hard to focus. Jon thinks she’s _hot_? How? When? Why? It’s too much for the drunk Sansas to grasp and sober Sansa is nowhere to be found. She wants to figure it out, to understand why this is so monumental to her or why she can’t stop glancing at him. It’s all she can focus on, so when Sansa finally hits him with her shell, she doesn’t notice, until he laughs and goes, “I guess I’ll strip this time.”

Before she can even comprehend what he had just said, Jon is already taking off his shirt and something just clicks. She doesn’t fully grasp what her body has already realised but she goes with it, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing her lips sloppily against his. Jon freezes beneath her and she feels his hands on her arms, pushing her back. She’s positive she’s just been rejected. 

“I’m… You started it!” she shouts instead of apologising. “Telling me I’m the hottest girl you’ve ever seen. How was I supposed to handle that? And then you take off your shirt! It’s - it’s a lot, okay?”  


Jon laughs and circles his hand around her wrist to tug her back towards him. “Yeah, this is all my fault,” he murmurs, peppering kisses to her nose, cheeks and then a brief one to her lips. “Not you who decided we _need_  to play truth or strip.” 

Sansa giggles when he leans in for another kiss, deepening it further. “I still stand by my idea being amazing.” 

Jon laughs against her lips. “You’re right. Your idea _is_ amazing.” 

They’re too drunk to do anything other than make out but Sansa does end up in Jon’s bed, cuddled up against him, instead of the guest bedroom, and when they wake up the next day, feeling the after-effects of excessive drinking the night before, they of course decide that having sex was the only true cure for it.

It doesn’t work but they don’t care either. 


End file.
